


Threads from the Misshapen Sweater of Time

by Gullwhacker



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Book: Equal Rites, F/M, Footnotes, Minor cameos to tease the imagination, No beta we run like Rincewind, Road Not Taken AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:13:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28519176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gullwhacker/pseuds/Gullwhacker
Summary: One wonders, what if time had flowed differently - what if a summer fling had been more than that?Or: Glimpses of Mustrum and Esmerelda working together.
Relationships: Mustrum Ridcully/Esmerelda "Granny" Weatherwax
Comments: 12
Kudos: 12
Collections: fandomtrees





	Threads from the Misshapen Sweater of Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hamsterwoman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hamsterwoman/gifts).



Reflections on days past are often accompanied by musings on the Trousers of Time. This is, generally speaking, ridiculous for at least two reasons. First is the simple fact that Time does not wear trousers.[1] Second is the unfortunate truth that a bifurcation of all history seldom hinges on any given decision; most regrets lack the narrative weight to make such musings relevant.

Were Time to have any kind of garment to serve as metaphor for the twisting possibilities of alternate histories, it would more likely be some kind of home-knit sweater - the kind where the crafter lost track of how many sleeves they were meant to add, where loose purls catch on buttons unexpectedly. And were a decision to hold enough narrative weight to justify adding another woollen sleeve, it might have been an invitation one sunny day in Lancre.

* * *

"I suppose there's no harm. 's not like Nanny Gripes has anything new for me to learn."

"So, er, should I pick you up at home, or-"

"Mustrum, keep your wits about you, and stay out of bow range of my parents if you'd rather be un-punctured."

"Bow range? Why would - oh, your hunter parents. Right..."

* * *

So the rows of metaphorical wool wind their way through the potential years, a summer romance stretching on longer than anyone might have expected, rippling out into differences and divergences. Some events repeat the same as ever, undeterred by whatever sleeve might hold them.[2] Other meetings happen differently, loose threads tied off into intriguing knots.

* * *

"Ah, Esmerelda! I have been wondering when you might make an honest man of my brother-"

"Hardly my position to make anyone more or less honest than they already are. Hardly anything anyone could do to make Mustrum more honest than he already is, at that."

"Er. Quite. Nonetheless, as a priest of Blind Io, I would be more than happy to pass on his blessing to you two, whatever day you choose to take up the Ridcully name!"

The sudden silence that followed Hughnon's words was punctuated only by his brother making strangely frantic gestures from behind Esmerelda. Even the symbol of Blind Io had grown strangely cold.[3]

"Weatherwax will do just fine. The next time you're talking with your god, you can pass that on to him, as well."

* * *

"Ankh-Morkpork? No, we can do better. Mustrum? Gel here with a problem, your business for a change."

The cabin in Bad Ass might have been a smaller cottage in another sleeve of the Misshapen Sweater of Time, but being big enough for two meant big enough for two sets of hobbies. Here, a garden; there, a woodworking shed. The young girl with her staff quivered under Granny Weatherwax's even stare, as bearded Grampy Ridcully emerged.

"This important, Esme? Nearly done that new crossbow for young Ogg."

"More important than that. Girl needs to learn magic. And her staff makes it your business."

"My job?" Grampy Ridcully peered through his spectacles, looking over both girl and stick, before letting out a startled bellow. "Hold now - that's a bit of a...surprise, isn't it?"[4]

"That it is. I gather you can handle a little surprise?"

"Well. The University would frown on teaching a girl wizardry - but they would also frown on whoever gave her a wizard's staff in the first place. So it's not their business, and it's not your business, so I suppose it must be mine! Come on in, I'll see how we can get started teaching you what's worth knowing."

* * *

"So, er, Esme. Got an interesting letter from the city today."

"That so. Anything to do with that fool business last summer?"

"Indirectly, I suppose. After everything with the sourcerer[5] they, er, seem to have run out of senior wizards willing to run the University. Reached out to offer me the position."

"Hm. Not a great time. Looks like a good year for the turnips, and all."

"I mean. It would be an honour - but that and a farthing will get you a mug of scumble."

"You'd know better than I."

"As if you didn't help Gytha set her prices yourself, Esme."

"Hm. So they want you in charge until they figure out who wants to take the hat next?"

"Suppose so. Thinking I might take them up on it for a winter. Long enough to toss a few archaic rules in the fire, at least. Would you be interested in helping me pick which ones deserve it?"

"I hear tell they don't care for married wizards."

"I hear from my brother monthly complaints that I'm not a married wizard."

* * *

"Archchancellor, you can't go! You can't leave us in this...this...debacle of a state!"

Mustrum's beard twitched, but his gaze remained impassive as he looked over the assorted heads of wizardry. The staff had grown larger since his arrival[6] and the grip on his suitcases was firm indeed.

"Now, I believe you all read the new rules. Memos and all, plenty of time to object before it was codified." The guilty glances indicated that the memos had not been read.[7] "The position of Archchancellor has a term limit, and mine is up."

"But...all these changes! Taking in students!" "Regular meetings with Vetinari!" "Allowing girls to be wizards!" "How are we supposed to deal with you leaving on top of all this?!"

"Ah, you've forgotten one more, lads." Mustrum waggled a finger. "Esme is leaving with me."

Silence echoed in the great hall for a moment.

"Safe travels, Former Archchancellor!" "Your valiant deeds, your noble sacrifice will not be forgot!" "Enjoy your retirement, sir!"

"Good lads. We may drop in again from time to time. Now, if you'll excuse me, her monthly chat with Havelock should be wrapping up about now..."

* * *

Perhaps not all the days of this sleeve are happy ones; perhaps ripples might rebound into another disaster. But perhaps that path not travelled was neither an unhappy one; shared interests turned to supports, and an easing of burdens carried together.

Of those private days between Esmerelda and Mustrum, sadly, nothing more is written.[8]

* * *

1 It has been remarked that she tends to prefer skirts.  [ return to text ]

2 Certain colours of wool are hard to use up, and the weaver tries to work them into the pattern wherever they might fit.  [ return to text ]

3 Hughnon Ridcully was a firm believer, at this point in life, that wisdom flowed from the gods. This naturally meant that the gods were better at reading the room.  [ return to text ]

4 Mustrum knew the rule that wizardry was for boys and witchcraft for girls, and knew Esmerelda well enough not to voice that rule aloud.  [ return to text ]

5 While the existence of a font of magic was known the world over, the power struggle did little to shake up life for denizens of Bad Ass.  [ return to text ]

6 Both in number of wizards and size of wizard.  [ return to text ]

7 This was, naturally, the point of sending out memos in the first place.  [ return to text ]

8 The author knows better than to peep.  [ return to text ]


End file.
